I have been one acquainted with the night
by hayleydinozzo
Summary: He woke up in the morning, went to work, came home, got drunk, and fell asleep. And then he started it all again the next day. And the next, until the days blurred into weeks and weeks blurred into months. Something had to give. Tony-Centric. Rated T for suicide mentions.
1. Over

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or any of its characters. I make no money off of this story. All rights belong to CBS and its respective owners.

The title belongs to Robert Frost, from his poem "Acquainted with the Night"

A/N: Hello readers! This is my first time back into fanfic writing after a couple of years, and I am excited to be back. I really enjoyed writing a darker Tony, and I hope my portrayal of him isn't too OOC. I imagined this taking place at the end of Season 12 or beginning of Season 13. I really hope everyone enjoys this, and thank you for taking the time to read this. This is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

This is, at the moment, a one-shot, but I left it open to be able to change to multi-chapter.

(The giant italic paragraph in the middle is a flashback)

* * *

Tony DiNozzo was tired.

These longs hours were taking a toll on him. The cases were taking a toll on him. The alcohol was _really_ taking a toll on him.

He woke up in the morning - if he had even caught much sleep at all - went for his run, went to work, came home late at night, ate some takeout, drank some booze, fell asleep. And then he started it all again the next day. And the next. And the next, until the days blurred into weeks and the weeks blurred into months.

 _Something had to give,_ Tony thought to himself.

That something, he feared, would be him.

He was damn good at his job and he knew it. Everyone knew it. It wasn't that he was feeling unappreciated; it's that he often felt lonely. He had his friends and co-workers, sure, but at the end of the day, it was his silent apartment he was coming home to. It was the empty beer cans and bottles of alcohol he was coming home to. It was his life he was coming home to, and he didn't like where he was going.

He wasn't looking for a woman to fill the void. He had been dating recently - even had a couple of long relationships - but it didn't fill the emptiness inside.

He didn't really have any family. After his mother died, he was depressed and angry. His father was never there for him. He was shipped to more boarding schools than he cares to remember. He had learned early on to count on himself, but somedays, himself wasn't enough. In his teenage years, he yearned for the love his mother had given him. His wishes went unanswered, leaving a vulnerable kid with a broken soul. And now, in his adult years, he still craves that same affection, and still feels that same hopelessness.

He, of course, has his good days. He enjoys spending time with his colleagues - listening to Ducky's stories or the warmth of Abby's hugs. He loves busting criminals. That feeling he gets when he caught the bad guys pushes him to go to work every morning. He lives for that feeling - the feeling of knowing you've made a difference. But these days, he doubts whether his actions make even the slightest difference in this huge world. There would always be another dead body, another grieving family, and another killer to catch. Catching the criminals didn't make him truly happy anymore, knowing that there was another one just around the corner.

The days seemed to grow longer, and the emptiness seemed to grow wider.

He truly, _truly_ , understands how Gibbs feels. And that's the scariest part. He understands why Gibbs builds walls to keep people out, why he locks himself away in his basement to drown away his pain in bourbon, and he understands the sadness in his eyes.

But everyday, even with the pain and the loneliness, he puts on his bravest face and works his way through the day. He keeps his own walls in place. He jokes with his co-workers; he makes them laugh. He does paperwork, he collects evidence, he has casual conversations with other employees. He talks about taking women home and he talks about movie marathons, but more and more recently, they're just lies.

 _How far can a rubber band be stretched before it snaps?_

He can vividly recall the first time he felt this burden.

 _A long case has kept the team at work late into the night. Eventually, McGee went home to Delilah, Bishop was going home to Jake, and Gibbs was finally going home to his boat._

" _DiNozzo," Gibbs says, "go home. It's late. You can finish it in the morning."_

" _I will Gibbs. I just really want to get this done," Tony responds wearily. The bags under his eyes were becoming more and more prominent each day._

" _Tony, do home. Wasn't there a movie you've been wanting to watch? Go watch it. Finish it in the morning," Gibbs responds._

 _Tony sighs. "I will. I promise. Just gotta finish this."_

 _Gibbs stares at Tony for a long time, watching his strained eyes stare at the monitor and his hands slowly move across the keyboard. He gets out of his chair and stands right in front of Tony's desk._

" _You doing okay, Dinozzo?" Gibbs questions._

" _I'm fine, boss. Really, I'm fine," Tony replies, plastering his famous DiNozzo-grin on his face._

" _If you ever need to talk, my door is open," Gibbs says, walking towards the elevator._

 _Tony looks around the office; he sees the empty office desks and he hears the buzz of his computer._

 _And that's it._

 _There's no one here but him. That's how it is most nights, but he rarely pays attention to the lack of people. However, tonight, it hits him. He's alone, just like he's alone at home. He realizes he constantly spends his nights at the office because his work is exactly like his home: empty. He has no reason to go home - he gets the same experience being here as being there. His home has few personal effects. To a stranger, there would be no clues that a person lived there besides the mail piling up on his unused kitchen table._

 _He's lived 40 something years of life and has nothing to show for it._

Tony gets up from his spot on the couch, the cushion worn down from many nights of sitting there, and walks to his liquor cabinet. He picks out the strongest, most expensive bottle of whiskey he has. He pours himself a hearty serving, washes it down, and pours some more.

 _I deserve this after the day I've had today_ , Tony thinks as he gulps down another glass. He messed up - badly. The dirtbag was right there, right in front of him, and he didn't catch him. He left a serial killer slipt right through his fingertips. Who knows when they were going to be able to track him down again. Who knows how many more people he'll kill before they catch him.

Tony takes another shot, and lays back down. Already, he has a pounding headache. His phone rings, but it goes unanswered. He's not sure how many drinks he's tonight, but he knows he'll have a nasty hangover in the morning.

He gets opens another bottle and takes a swig. He starts to feel woozy and falls to the ground, unable to keep his balance.

He hadn't meant to do it.

He truly had no intention of drinking that much.

But the alcohol stings as it goes down his throat and the pain begins to go numb, so he keeps drinking.

He vision goes blurry and he can't get off the floor, so he just lays there. His breathing slows to a crawl.

There's a knock on the door.

Tony wants to answer it, but he can't move his body.

 _This isn't how I wanted to go_ , he thinks to himself.

The last thing he hears is his door being kicked open before he slips into unconsciousness.

* * *

A/N: Reviews always make my day! Between countless government notes and English papers, I could certainly use a break to read a review. Again, thank you for reading!

A/N pt.2: As I said above, this could possibly be a multi-chapter story. If you want to leave your opinion on whether it should be (and if yes - any ideas you would want to see), pleas tell me! I'm always open to suggestions :)


	2. Under

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or any of its characters. I make no money off of this story. All rights belong to CBS and its respective owners.

Hello readers! I wanted to get this chapter out quicker, but the ideas weren't coming to me.

Thank you so much for all your kind reviews and support! Again, this is un-beta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

* * *

His head was pounding.

Every time he tried to open his eyes, the bright lights sent a wave of pain through his temples. The consistent beeping of the machines was enough to drive anyone crazy, and his body ached as though he had just run a marathon. He heard the whispers of multiple people, and felt eyes staring down at him.

He really should awaken and see what's going on. But in reality, he just wanted to go back to sleep. He didn't want to face anyone, or discuss the previous night. He didn't want to see the concern in their eyes or hear the pity in their voices. Pity was the last thing he needed.

Everything of that night was a blur. Except the pain. The pain was all too real.

 _He heard the door to his apartment being kicked in._

" _DiNozzo!," Gibbs screamed._

 _Warm, rough hands land on his cheeks, feeling his temperature. Two fingers feel for a pulse on his neck. Gibbs reaches for his cellphone and dials 911._

" _Stay with me DiNozzo. Please, stay with me."_

"His blood alcohol level was .20. He was unconscious, shallow breathing, and his body temperature was extremely low," he heard low voice say off in the distance.

"How long's he gonna be here for, Doc?" an all too familiar voice replied.

"A day, at most. There isn't any physical injuries that would keep him here. However, I am worried about his psychological state. This is consistent with suicide."

Tony had had enough of listening to people talk about him. He quickly opened his eyes, making sure everyone was aware that he was awake and, hopefully, have them stop talking about his "psychological state."

Abby and Gibbs stood in front of him; one looked like they had been crying for hours, and the other looked at him with a stone-face.

"Oh, Tony." Abby cried, practically jumping on him for a hug. Tony whimpered in pain as he was almost crushed by the force of her hug.

"Abby," Gibbs said, "give him some space."

"Sorry," she replied hesitantly, stepping away.

"It's okay, Abs," Tony says weakly, his mouth feeling as dry as the desert.

"It's not okay Tony!" Abby says on the verge of tears. "How could you do this? How could you ever think to do this? What would I do without you, Tony?" Abby cries, the tears pouring from her eyes. An moment of silence ensues before Abby slaps Tony on the arm.

"Abby!" Tony cries, rubbing his wound.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Abby says, coming in for another hug.

"I think that's enough for one day. Go home, Abby. I'll call you later," Gibbs says to Abby, guiding her out the door.

Pulling up a chair, Gibbs sits down next to Tony's bed.

"You know, boss, I'm feeling kinda tired. I think I'm gonna head back to sleep," Tony says quickly wanting to avoid the conversation he knew was bound to happen.

"You can't outrun this. You need to talk," Gibbs says. Tony simply stares into the distance, not a sound escaping his lips.

"Tony, talk to me. Please," Gibbs adds, barely a whisper. Tony's emotionless eyes remained glazed over. A fews second pass by, but to Tony, they feel like hours. Gibbs waits patiently; Tony realizes that he must face the inevitable.

"I wasn't trying to kill myself. I didn't mean to drink that much." Tony hoped that was enough, but Gibbs just waits.

"These last few years have been rough, to say the least. Exhausting. I've never questioned my ability as an agent. I know NCIS is my life. But that's where the problem lies."

Silence.

"NCIS is it. No family, no close friends outside of the office; no life, really. Except for NCIS, I have nothing." Tony admits, and Gibbs can hear the tears in his voice.

"My life is just one big cycle. Nothing to look forward to anymore. Not even catching the criminals. The booze is the only thing that makes it okay. It makes me forget the pain. And the loneliness. And the disappointment."

Tony says, barely audible, "I wasn't trying to kill myself, honestly. But, I guess, I wasn't really trying to live, either. I was just gonna accept whatever was coming for me. I'm just so tired of it all. " A single tear rolls down his cheeks, splashing onto his hospital gown.

Gibbs is stunned, but not surprised. He knew how much Ziva's departure tolled on him, and how much guilt he carried from his whole career. But he didn't see this coming. No one did. To the outside observer, Tony appeared to be happy.

Tony was anything but.

"I wished you'd come to me. You have friends at NCIS you could've talked to. We're all here for you."

No response.

"You've touched more lives than you can imagine. You've made a difference. To me. To McGee. To Bishop. To the families to the victims. And that needs to be enough."

Tony remains quiet, staring at nothing. Minutes pass. The room is so silent, Tony thinks he can hear his own heart beating.

"How do I go on from this?" Tony asks quietly.

Gibbs stands up, and hands him his cellphone from the bedside table.

"I know someone who wants to talk to you," Gibbs answers, as he walks out of the room and shuts the door.

Turning on the phone, he sees one new text message.

Ziva.

 _Every time I thought I could not go on, I did. I always found something to hold on to. My family in the beginning NCIS for a while, and you. You made a difference to me in more ways than you could imagine. Find something to hold onto, and never let go._

And he realizes.

Maybe someone to talk is what he's needed all along.

* * *

A/N: There you have it! I'll probably revise this chapter eventually, but for now, voila!

Also, I believe this will be the last chapter. I've been thinking about a sequel (we'll just have to wait and see!).

Thank you so much for sticking with me! I appreciate all the support and love I've received from all the readers :)


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